The Promise of Rain
by somethingwentBUMP
Summary: "I didn't take you for a quitter," is all Stark says. They are unruly, and unruleable. Stanner romance epic, post-Avengers, later M.
1. Undone

**The Promise of Rain**

being a continuation of the avengers

with made up science

and much fuckery

* * *

There is a voice. It's a quiet voice, as far as voices go, and it is quick and steady over the snapping static of a small white communicator.

It says, "Banner, you there?"

The hand which picks up the communicator belongs to Bruce Banner, who is swallowing visibly, and he fumbles with the device before answering.

"Yes. Is there – a problem?" The pause is small, but distinct.

The voice replies instantly, and even the crackling communicator cannot erase the calm it invokes. "No, thought you might've run out on me. You wouldn't believe how many people do that when I bring them home. There was this girl once – into some really weird stuff, I heard, so –"

Bruce leans forward on the counter, arms folded, and the steel coldly presses up into his skin. He hears faintly, in the background, that Tony Stark is still speaking. Occasionally a phrase slips through ("I didn't know someone could _do_ that with a bagel") and despite the fact that Bruce really, really, doesn't want to know this, he is grateful – because in his own strange and not-very-helpful way, the other scientist is trying to reassure him. But then Stark mentions that he'll never be able to think about rubber ducks in the same way again, and Banner decides that that's probably enough reassurance.

"Well, if there are any problems, they certainly aren't with me," he says dryly.

"Aside from the small matter of that huge angry green monster you occasionally turn into, I agree," Stark fires back.

Bruce laughs after few stunned moments. He is becoming used to these jibes, to the mentioning of the unmentionable. Stark is silent on the other side of the communicator, but if Bruce thinks – which he does – he can imagine him smiling.

When his laugh fades away, Bruce shakes his head and rubs his palms on his slacks, more awkward than nervous. "I must be crazy to think this will work," he says.

"You think you're the crazy one," Stark says. "I'm currently standing up the lovely Miss Pepper so I can perform a scientific miracle on a guy in serious need of a hairdresser and anger management. No offence," he adds.

Bruce says, "None taken," a little incredulously.

"You know we've done the theory, Banner. We did the neuroscience, the math, a thousand experiments –"

"_Simulated _experiments. And there were only three hundred and twenty one of them."

"Right, yeah, and we've been working on this for a damn year. It's not gonna get any less crazy, man."

Bruce stares at the counter, arms tightly crossed now. "You're right," he says at last.

"Of course I'm right. I'm always right. It's just one of my countless qualities," Stark says.

Bruce resists rolling his eyes and instead asks Stark to begin recording. After a final burst of static ("Sure thing"), the communicator falls silent, and a red light stares patiently up at him. A glance up at the corner of the small room confirms that the camera is also recording, and as he slides on a pair of wraparound safety glasses, Bruce Banner feels his residual worry slip away.

This is his element.

These white rubber gloves, this lab coat and clean table, those test tubes and droppers and neatly labelled chemicals – they are familiar. They remind him of shelves, stacked with books, written by people with strange names that come with strings of letters after them; of professors, with thick glasses and thin hair; of long white rooms and longer black nights. He reaches out an unlined rubber-white hand and the cool glass of a beaker calms him.

"This is Dr. Bruce Banner, beginning practical experiment one," he tells the communicator-recorder. The circle of red does not blink in acknowledgement, but he did not expect it to.

Thirty four floors above him, Tony Stark watches. Behind the glasses Banner's eyes are dark and unfathomable; a sliver of incomprehensible colour refracted and bent into a swollen, intent purpose. They don't scare Tony – nothing does, these days – but whenever he is taken by surprise by those voids he talks just a little less. Banner's eyes are what make him think (what make him _know_, because Tony Stark doesn't just think things, he damn well knows them, and he knew them before everyone else too) that the Hulk has always been there.

And that's so awesome.

"Opening subject's blood sample, type A+; Banner, Bruce." Brief static as the scientist pauses, gloved fingers neatly manipulating the implements. "Placing blood sample in container. Sealing… repressuring… complete. Running analysis checks – blood sample is stable."

Stark has seen this before, three hundred and twenty one theoretical times. This would be an extremely boring show, he thinks, if the host wasn't so cool. And Bruce Banner is, he _really_ is, the coolest scientist Tony Stark knows – except from himself, but he doesn't hold this against the guy. Unlike Tony, Banner is modest, gentle, and the last (somewhat ironically) to anger – they're simple qualities, but amaze him nonetheless. Another, longer, stretch of static interrupts his thoughts as Banner fiddles with the container.

The container is another example of Tony Stark's brilliance. It's been engineered over the past year with this specific experiment in mind – the only flaw being that Tony doesn't exactly know what the outcome of the experiment will _be. _Fuck it, he thinks. Once sealed the thing is, to all intents and purposes, impenetrable. He's even thrown in some back-up safety measures (see: explosives), just so Banner will stop getting his damn panties in a twist.

"Inserting pheromone X12. Sample obtained from test subject Banner, Bruce," says the man himself.

Tony leans back against the table, tapping his fingers on the steel. The familiarity of his workshop lessens the tension which hangs over him, but he fidgets anyway. Pheromone X12, even he will admit, is a tricky bitch. It was unstable even in the theoretical stage of their work and, he has no doubt, will be even more awkward now. Anger pheromones always are.

The container swallows the slim tube of clear liquid – pheromone X12 – with a hydraulic wheeze. Banner is impassive, black eyes deep but expressionless, but Tony's fingers fall faster now. The clicks echo in the large room.

"Sealing… repressuring… complete. Running analysis checks on pheromone X12. Status stable."

Banner pauses. Tony's fingers still immediately and he leans almost imperceptibly forward.

"Stark?" Bruce says after a moment.

He says, "I'm here."

"Okay," Bruce says, very quietly. "Okay." And then, louder: "Container extracting pheromone X12."

The container does this slowly, and they are left in silence as, unseen, the slim tube of pheromone is opened and lowered to the partition which separates it from the blood sample. Banner gently presses his finger to a green button, careful not to shake the container – which, Tony thinks, is quite unnecessary, as the thing weighs about a ton and Banner couldn't shift the thing if he tried (unless he got very, very angry).

"Initiating sequence 3-20F. Combining pheromone X12 and blood sample," Banner says. His voice is steady but he takes a small step back, and his hands clutch at the pockets of his lab coat. "Compound stable – no, _wait –_"

The readouts on Tony's display screen dip and then shoot upwards. He rises sharply from the side of the table and strides forward to focus on the data; his eyes flicker as they scan the lists which are rapidly beginning to become unreadable.

The worst part is that the scientist thirty four floors below cannot see the full extent of the chaos; the small display on the container reveals only a limited number of readouts. So Tony understands why Banner still sounds moderately composed as he tells him, "Attempts to stabilize are unsuccessful."

Tony can't answer.

"Stark," says Banner, and he's alarmed, then more than alarmed.

And then Tony can't fucking _think, _the readouts are going off the scales and JARVIS is panicking in the background and he's never seen anything like this, not even in the tests.

Banner repeats his name and this time he sounds desperate. He's looking up at the camera butTony can't concentrate, he can't even move, because right in front of Banner the container is shaking the _entire_ _bolted down_ _table_ and the numbers are just blurs now and rising and rising and _rising _and_ RISING AND –_

A shriek of static rips through his frozen world. Tony turns his head slowly, so slowly, and realises – mutedly, as if all thought and sight and sound is reaching him from light-years away – that Banner is roaring his name.

"_Tony!_ What do I _do? What do I do?"_

This is when Tony realises that Banner's eyes are not expressionless like he had so foolishly thought. They are stirring, rushing, things rising and falling in the black depths. Banner is angry. Banner is scared. Banner is upset. The emotions roil and twist in those voids, and Tony is distracted - just for a moment - before he recovers.

"Hang on, Banner," he says into the communicator, and he surprises himself when he sounds completely unruffled. On the display Banner backs to the far wall of the lab and slides down it. "JARVIS," he says, "Activate emergency protocol 5-19."

The smooth voice of JARVIS answers him instantly. "Already done, sir. Countdown proceeding."

Tony shakes his head. In the corner of his eye, he sees the flickering white numbers turn emerald green. He doesn't even know what that means. "No no no no, skip the damn countdown, just do it."

"Wouldn't you like to warn Dr. Banner before–" the program pauses when, suddenly, the numbers freeze. Tony looks on in sick wonder as he realises that they aren't even numbers anymore; they are strange symbols and shapes that he doesn't recognise. JARVIS wipes the display and then, firmly, says, "Right away, sir."

Banner does not move when the container explodes.

* * *

a/n: it's the start, and i'm excited.

i wrote this on the spur of the moment, with no idea as to where it was heading. all i had in mind was a furious determination to capture these characters. i think we've all experienced fanfics which, although satisfyingly smutty or long or well written, just do not in any way represent the characters they are supposed to. what's worse is reading an epic and realising halfway through, with a sickening feeling, that this author apparently thinks that tony stark giggles (a word i will never, ever, write again).

so, instead of bitching about it (as usual), i decided to make my own contribution. i hope i did myself proud. otherwise, leave a review telling me what a hypocrite i am.

and bear in mind that although at first i had no clue what i was writing, i've established a lengthy plot, minus cliches and unoriginality. this will be a stanner epic. don't worry man, i've got this.

i love you just for reading.


	2. These Colours

**The Promise of Rain**

being a continuation of the avengers

with made up science

and much fuckery

* * *

"Jesus, Banner, come _on –"_

The container has been reduced to an expanse of black, smeared across the entire lab (which, thinks Tony, may be down to slight exuberance on his part concerning the safety measures (see: explosives), but fuck it), so there is no immediate danger to Bruce, but he just wants to get him out of that goddamn room, _away_ – which would be much easier if the guy wasn't still slumped against the wall and about as responsive as a doormat.

Then: "Oh, fuck."

He's just noticed a long cut underneath all that damn hair, high up on Banner's forehead. Tony bends down to grimace at it. It's more of a gash than a cut and, judging by the amount of glass on the floor from smashed beakers, the guy is lucky that it's only that bad. Tony pushes sticky red hair out of closed eyes, making a note to his inner JARVIS that starting from tomorrow, Banner is getting a haircut. Like, a short one. Preferably bald. No more wild "I am a scientist and knoweth not the existence of personal hygiene" curls. Nobody takes them seriously, anyway, Tony thinks (almost fondly, but not quite. He's too cool for fondness).

He doesn't know what to do. Tony is a scientist, a philanthropist, a genius; but he is not a doctor. So he leans forward to poke at the wound. It seems unperturbed by this, and carries on bleeding. Tony is all too aware of his debilitating inexperience regarding first aid, so is shamelessly relieved that Banner is barely conscious and can't see the fucking mess he's making of this.

And now Banner's face is glistening scarlet from brow to jaw, and Tony is kind of becoming concerned. He tries again to pull him up. By no means is he a weak man (to the contrary, he flies around in a metal suit half the time, and that's literally awesome), but trying to lift somebody who occasionally turns into a green mass of rage-muscle is not easy, even for him.

He tries not to think about how his pulling is becoming increasingly more desperate, about how Bruce Banner is still not responding. Most of all, he tries _really_ hard not to think about all that blood, although it's all over his shirt now (which he almost laughs at, because Pepper bought it for him last month and he fucking hates it).

"Fuck, Banner, help me out here. I'm not Captain goddamn Spangles," Tony says through clenched teeth.

Some part of Banner must take pity on Tony, because the bleeding man pulls away from him and holds a shaking hand to his eyes. He can't see, but he doesn't care; Bruce can only think of how ridiculously _hopeless_ he is, of how weak he must look to Stark, and he hates himself for it.

"I'm sorry," says Tony Stark. He doesn't bother wasting breath on platitudes; he knows that Banner's not fine, it's not going to be alright, he is hurt and hopeless and angryand it's _not alright_. For this, Stark is sorry.

So Bruce lets Stark take his hand and help him up, and then he lets Stark lead him far away from that lab, charred black at the corners with their failure. He is mindless, slipping away to that quiet, emotionless place that he sometimes dreams of. After a while he can't feel Tony Stark's hand, is no longer aware of the warm, wet cloth that dabs inexpertly at his face.

And then, he sleeps.

* * *

When he next opens his eyes, it takes a long time for the room to come into focus. The white tiled ceiling seems endless, each square blurring into another. Bruce spends a long time looking at the clean expanse of nothing. He is trying not to think.

"Banner, you there?"

A voice. Memories. He squeezes his eyes tight-shut, feels a lazy, painful ache from his forehead as he does so. Bruce remembers those words from somewhere else; from the place he is trying not to think of.

"Is this the part where I say lame stuff like 'stay with me, buddy'?" says the voice loudly.

He tries again to ignore it, but then there's something by his ear, air rushing in and out against the sensitive skin, and –

The voice whispers,_ "Do you want a blueberry?"_

"Stark," gasps Bruce, and jerks away.

When he finally gathers himself and has finished trying to crush the bag of blueberries in Tony Stark's hands, Banner looks down at the bright white hospital sheets clenched in his fists. The other man, to his credit, remains silent.

It has taken a year (and there were years before even that), of hoping and researching and experimenting for some kind of cure, for Bruce to realise that he no longer wants to waste his time trying. He wonders – not for the first time – what if there _isn't_ a cure? A larger, greener part of him thinks, _fuck _the cure.

He says nothing for a long time.

Finally, he asks Stark to pass him the clipboard at the end of the bed. Tony does so, watching him appraisingly as Bruce scans through his own medical information. A small notation in doctor's chicken-scratch (in which Bruce is experienced, and practically fluent) makes him pause.

"They had to restitch me twice?" he asks. "What happened_?"_

"I experimented with a little first aid," Stark looks unabashed.

Bruce stares, too incredulous to look away even when the man winks. "Did you try to stitch me?"

Stark raises one admonishing finger. "Correction, I did not try. I succeeded."

"They had to restitch me," Bruce repeats. "_Twice!"_

He shrugs. "In my defence, JARVIS guided me through it."

"I can't believe you – Stark, it's a _delicate medical procedure. _ How could you possibly expect –"

"The doctors said you looked like Frankenstein's monster," says Stark. "I told them if they wanted to see _that_, they should just wait until you get pissed off."

Banner puts his head in his hands. "I just can't – I died, didn't I? I'm dead. This is Hell."

"Don't be ridiculous," Stark says deprecatingly. "If this was Hell, there wouldn't be blueberries."

It takes Tony all of five minutes to persuade the red-headed nurse on duty to let him take Banner home. There is an exchange of phone numbers – well, he does give her a number, just not necessarily _his_ number – and then they are away, and Banner is safely tucked into the back of a black four-by-four with him.

Banner starts to awkwardly change into the clothes that Pepper insisted the chauffeur bring, so Tony looks away (he also doesn't see why the clothes were necessary. The hospital gown, while backless, seems just fine); mostly out of respect for the physicist's shyness – which is not to say that he doesn't sneak looks out of the corner of his eye, because he's always wondered what kind of effects massive amounts of gamma radiation would have on a guy down there.

When he finally turns back around, Banner is staring at the floor of the car and looking a little embarrassed. Tony figures it's not the time to ask what the effects of extreme gamma radiation on male genitalia _are_, so he asks Bruce how he's doing instead.

"Well, at least I don't look like Frankenstein's monster anymore," says Banner dryly. "I'm healing quite well, according to the charts."

"I heard that 'and no thanks to you'," Tony says archly. "It was only implied, but it was definitely there."

Banner smiles down at the floor, but doesn't answer.

And, Tony figures, it's now or never, small enclosed space or not. "We need to talk about the experiment," he tells him.

Immediately, Bruce looks away, up and out of the window, which so tinted that it may as well be night outside. He says, "I'd rather not," very quietly.

"We need to," Tony repeats, and he hates himself for pushing but leans closer to the other man, across the distance of empty seats and black leather.

Now Banner is turning around and _looking_ at him, wordlessly telling him to shut up, and it's not as easy anymore to say what he needs to say, but Tony Stark is a natural at speaking (at all kinds of speaking, in fact, and most especially when he's not supposed to).

So he says, "I mean, would you cure a high IQ? Would you cure compassion?"

"What's your point, Stark?" Banner's palms are flat against his slacks, and he is staring at Tony.

"It's that maybe looking like the Green Giant every once in a while isn't so bad," says Tony, and right away, he knows he has said the wrong thing, but he goes on anyway. "You know, that guy – Peter Parker, or whatever - he got bit by some radioactive fucking spider, and now he's -"

"It's _different_," Bruce says calmly. "It's so different. You could never understand."

Something in his voice silences Tony Stark. "No," he says at last. "I guess not. But you don't, either."

"Stark, I think that's a little presumptuous of you," says Banner, and his fingers press into the car leather and then, self-consciously, pull back to fold neatly in his lap.

"Well, I'm a presumptuous person, Banner, I'm sure you've figured that out," Tony raises one eyebrow at the other man. "What you have is a terrible gift, but it's a gift nonetheless."

Banner looks out of the window again, and Tony is all set the leave the conversation at that, until: "I'm not doing it anymore."

"The experiments?" he asks, sharper than he had intended, but Banner seems to expect it.

"Yes."

"I didn't take you for a quitter," is all Stark says, and then silence settles on the two men.

Tony is frustrated. When Banner had apprehensively asked him for help only a year ago, he had been disappointed in the man. He'd meant what he said, he _always_ meant what he said – it was a gift, Bruce's power, and if he'd only learn to control it then the possibilities would become endless.

And it was this thought that had made him agree to help Banner. It was what made him steer the physicist towards studying his biology, the different reactions his blood would have to various pheromones. Perhaps, Tony had figured, if he were exposed to the right emotion then Banner could unleash an intelligent Hulk; a compassionate Hulk; a goddamn daisy-picking man-loving pink Hulk; who fucking knew?

He had thought that maybe, just maybe, Banner could get to think the Hulk is awesome, just like he does.

Tony glances at Banner, who is uncomfortably rolling his sleeves up and down. He wonders at his own hypocrisy – at giving up just because Banner is quitting, and yet being disappointed in the physicist for it. If Tony Stark is anything, he is not a fucking hypocrite.

In fact, If Tony Stark is anything, he is a humanitarian. Perhaps a few people (see: several thousand, including a certain Capsicle, and Pepper because she kind of laughed when he said so) would disagree with this, but he is. This part of himself looks at Banner, at his tight jaw and crumpled clothes, at the bags under his eyes that speak of sleepless nights, and he sees a man who is too selfless to try to live a normal life.

So, screw quitting.

It's raining outside as Tony Stark decides to cure his science buddy. AC/DC is playing faintly in the background. A hospital gown is folded messily on the seat beside him. On the other side of the gown is Banner, still fiddling with his shirt sleeves, quietly oblivious. He's thinking about blueberries; he's thinking about gold and scarlet.

He's not thinking about green.

* * *

thank you to all of you have reviewed, alerted, and favourited this story. you're the best kind of people.

please review again, guys. (:


	3. Smile

**The Promise of Rain**

being a continuation of the avengers

with made up science

and much fuckery

* * *

"Okay, are all assembled comfortably? Everyone has popcorn? No sudden bathroom breaks?"

Tony claps his hands as he settles into a chair, and looks around the table. The strong mid-August sunlight streams through the expanse of glass wall by his right, and if he squints he can see the amused expression of Bruce Banner, who is sitting beside him. His words are met with derision, incredulity, and annoyance (mostly on Romanov's part; everybody else just looks confused). Tough crowd, thinks Tony. Well, he tried.

It's the first time they've gathered together since the shawarma-fest (immediately after which, he was plagued by angry calls from all of the Avengers, with the exception of Thor. Gods are, apparently, incapable of food poisoning).

According to Nick Fury – whom Tony (thankfully) doesn't see much of these days – regulations 'suggest' that the Avengers reconvene once a year. Tony doesn't object to this; in fact, he likes seeing the whole gang together again. Hell, if they got a van and a dog, they could go out and solve mysteries and shit. He just wishes that the meeting wasn't _today_, because –

Thor holds up a large cardboard bucket. "I do not understand this popcorn. Is it nourishment of some kind?"

"Stark –" Romanov already looks pissed off, but seems to decide he's a hopeless case and turns to Thor instead. "Yes, it's food. Stark's attempt at humour."

"Oh Natasha, you break my heart," Tony says, and clutches at his arc reactor.

"What heart?" she shoots back.

He turns to Banner reproachfully. "Mommy, she's being mean to me."

Banner shakes his head, smiling, "No way, Stark. I am not getting involved in this."

Tony says "I don't blame you," and then laughs with Banner. For some reason Thor joins in, and his bellowing laugh drowns both of them out, which makes them laugh all the harder.

Steve Rogers (of course) is the one to interrupt them. He clears his throat loudly and Banner stops laughing, and for a moment Tony is angry, before he brushes it off. He doesn't want to sit at this goddamn table all day, either. Not to mention the fact that Rogers is looking a little edgy today, so he's somehow less inclined to wind up the guy.

"As we all know," Rogers begins, "It's now been a year since our fight with Loki. Although there have been a few minor disturbances – which we have mostly been able to individually deal with – there doesn't seem to be any current underlying plot for world subjugation."

"Well said, great to hear, thanks for coming guys, I'm glad we did this," Tony says, and makes to get up.

"_But_," Rogers says tightly.

Tony sinks back into his chair and sighs; Banner claps him on the back in sympathy.

Rogers continues. "But, if there was, that's exactly what they would want us to think. It's been long enough to lull us into a false sense of security. If someone were to strike now, we may be oblivious and vulnerable."

This, at least, is something Tony can agree with. He's familiar with military tactics (Rhodey talks about them enough that he's probably a goddamn expert, in truth). The Avengers contemplate this for a few moments, and it's quiet. Yeah, Tony thinks, too quiet.

"One example is the incident that Thor had to deal with about half a year ago," Rogers adds.

"The Inquiri," says Thor. "A troublesome race. In the past, it has always been Loki who has maintained peace amongst them. I do not enjoy the company of such strange creatures."

Romanov irritably stirs at the mention of Loki, and then says, warily, "Inquiri?"

"You do not know of the Inquiri? They are loathsome beasts." Thor laughs as he adds, "Their mouths may be sharp, but their minds are dull. In order to regain peace, I elected an Asgardian lord as their ruler, and the beasts thought they had been blessed."

"We could have stopped those, uh, Inquiri, from ever hurting anyone on Earth if we'd only been more aware," Rogers says finally. "And now, a year after Loki's capture, we are more unprepared than ever. We need to organise ourselves."

It appears this is as far as Rogers got with his speech. He looks in askance at Tony, who pulls his box of popcorn towards him and digs in determinedly.

To everybody's surprise (and Tony's amusement), Bruce breaks the silence.

"Okay, so that's established. Are you going to suggest a solution?" he asks.

"I hoped we could all work on a way to fight this together, Dr. Banner," Rogers replies, staring at Stark.

"Team building. Fury would be proud," says Tony, who still has a grudge against the eyepatched asshole.

"Well, it's probably a good idea for us to stay together," Hawkeye says.

"I agree," Banner says.

Tony sets the popcorn carefully back on the table. "I disagree."

"Oh, _come on_ Stark –" Romanov explodes.

"Are you just disagreeing for the sake of it, or do you actually have a reason?" Rogers demands.

"I side with the man of metal," says Thor, although Tony thinks he's just doing it to piss everyone off even more.

Tony raises a finger. "Spangles, I am ashamed and disappointed that you could think I would do such a thing," beside him Banner puts his head in his hands, "and furthermore, you are sitting in the reason I disagree."

Rogers looks down at himself uncertainly. "The chair?" he asks, confused and still very much annoyed.

"Stark Enterprises," Tony says, leaning back and spreading his arms. "I have a business to run; lives to save; ladies to charm." He winks at Romanov, who glares.

"You're telling me that you haven't made some portable device which you can use to manage it with?" Hawkeye asks, looking sceptical.

"Of course I have," Tony says matter-of-factly.

The table is silent. Then: "So you can do it?"

"I can," Tony allows. "But…"

"He won't," Banner finishes, and he sounds like he is trying not to smile.

"In that case," Hawkeye says grimly, "I'll point out that we are also currently sitting in a building with well over thirty floors –"

Tony realises what he's getting at immediately. "No, no, no, no, no –"

He ignores Stark and continues, "– probably like twenty bedrooms, all with a very _generous _owner –"

"Generous my fucking _ass –_"

"– and completely unused," he finishes.

The Avengers look questioningly at Stark.

Tony says, "Hell no."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Tony is sulkily picking popcorn out of his hair in the bathroom. Banner is helping him (correction: Banner dragged him there when Rogers and he started to get a little too aggressive, and now feels obliged to help him, but mostly he just wrings his hands). To say there was an argument is an understatement.

"Stark, I don't understand why you don't just let them live here for a couple of months," Banner says. "They'd probably hate it just as much as you would. Imagine getting to annoy Rogers every single day for eight weeks."

Tony raises an eyebrow. "Seduce me not, foul temptress."

"You see right through me," replies the physicist dryly.

For a few moments they continue in silence. Tony carefully pulls popcorn from his hair, moodily remembering Romanov throwing the box at him; Banner pulls at his shirt cuffs and watches him.

"_I_ live here," says Banner at last.

Tony, impassive, says, "Yes. You do."

"Then what's the problem?"

Because, Tony wants to say, it's _his_ thing. It's Banner who lives here, on Floor 12, the eighth bedroom, and he sleeps there and eats there and laughs there (when Tony's there, of course) and works there and it's _only for Banner. _Not for Steve Rogers or Robin Hood (whatever his name is) or Natasha Romanov or Thor. It's for Bruce Banner.

But, in the end, he just says, "It's different," and turns to inspect his hair in the mirror.

The reflected Banner stares at him. Quietly, he asks, "How?"

Tony whirls around. "Do I have any of that shit left in my hair?"

"No," Banner looks exasperated. "I know you're changing – wait." He pauses, and looks at him.

His hand rises, slowly, and moves towards Stark's face. Banner's eyes are doing that look again – the one that makes Tony dry-mouthed and quiet – right at him; they are blackly intent, opening at the edges and becoming everything, swallowing and swallowing and –

– and Banner's fingers are on his cheekbone and trailing to his ear, and they're warm and Tony wants to close his eyes but can't quite look away.

"There," says Banner, and pulls his hand away. "All gone."

"What?" Tony blinks, and looks at the physicist's hand. Pressed between a finger and thumb is small piece of popcorn. "Oh," he says. "Thanks."

"No problem."

"Are you sure it's all gone?" Tony asks, and dares a wink.

Banner for once seems at ease. "I wouldn't lie to you," he says simply.

Tony Stark does not often feel guilty – he's a billionaire playboy, he's not known for his kind and loving heart – but this is one of the exceptions. He has been unable to bring himself to tell Banner that he's still experimenting for a cure. Mostly because when he tried to suggest that he continue alone, Banner got upset and asked if he really thought he needed a cure, but also because he wants to surprise the guy. In about six months it will be Banner's birthday, and in Tony's opinion the cure to all his green problems will be the most awesome present ever.

Hence the secrecy, which turned into lying because Banner wanted to know what on earth he was working on, anyway, which turned into guilt because of moments like this.

Fuck, Tony thinks. And then smiles, and throws an arm round Banner's shoulders.

"I know. Let's get back to the losers in the other room," he says. "They're probably wondering where all the eye-candy went."

"I'm sure," Banner answers, but smiles widely and follows him.

* * *

No sooner do they return (and are greeted mostly with glares, although Thor grins), than JARVIS calls for him. "Sir, Ms. Potts has returned."

_This_ is why Tony did not want the Avengers meeting to be today. Today, of all days, the day Pepper returns.

The elevator slides open only a moment later, and she walks through. She seems out of place in business clothes – a knee-length pencil skirt, a purple blouse, high-heels – compared to the various outfits around the table (cloaks, lycra and band t-shirts, to name a few).

"Pepper," he greets her, and opens his arms.

She doesn't come any closer. "Tony," she says, with the kind of enthusiasm all women speak with, right before they rip you apart.

Tony lowers his arms. "Oh, God," he says, and Thor looks up from his popcorn. Tony pats his shoulder. "Not you, Blondie."

"Tony," Pepper repeats. "A word?"

This is a test, he decides. One of those female tests. If he says he's busy, Pepper will smile and say "That's fine," and everything will be great and awesome and happy-fucking-days, until the next time he wants sex and then the oh-I-have-a-headache's and well-I-have-some-paperwork-I-should-really-do's will arrive in vengeful abundance. He's so got this.

Carefully, he says, "Of course," and walks with her to the kitchen.

He figures it's probably not the time to ask for a sandwich or something, so as Pepper waits he makes himself a vodka and coke and shoots it back. She whirls on him the moment he does, so he's kind of glad that it was more a large shot of vodka that looked like it had maybe hung around with coke at some long-past point of its existence, than anything else (see: weaker).

"It was the last night we would have together before I went to D.C. for a month," Pepper tells him, as if he didn't already know (okay, in truth, he'd forgotten, and had been quite confused when he woke up and there was a cold space on the other side of the bed, but Tony wasn't about to tell her that). "And where were _you_?"

Tony isn't sure if he's supposed to answer or not. Probably not. So he does.

"I was definitely not being bled on by Banner's face," he says. "Kidding, I totally was. Incidentally, did you know that needles can get stuck if you don't stitch the right way?"

"Tony, what is _wrong _with you?"

"Weird, that's what the doctors said. And Banner. Although when he said it, he was trying to physically harm me."

"Tony –"

"I say trying because, clearly, I am too awesome to actually –"

"_Tony._" Pepper looks more upset than angry now, and Tony shuts his mouth as he realises that he may have missed something. She says, quietly, "I'm tired. I've been travelling for several hours, I've been in meetings for a month straight, and I'm trying to talk to you. Please, don't shut me out."

Tony hates that. That weird ability that women have where they seem to know exactly what you are doing, even when you didn't know yourself. He holds his empty glass a little tighter and nods.

"I'm sorry if I'm coming across as angry," says Pepper apologetically. "I just thought that this –" she seems unsure as to what 'this' is, "– was working. I thought that you could settle down."

"No no no no, Pep," Tony says quickly, and he steps forward and touches her shoulder, then her cheek. "It is; I _am_. I was working with Banner. This cure is important."

Pepper doesn't pull away, but her tension isn't easing. "If you were really settling down, Tony, you wouldn't be putting Banner before me," she tells him. Her tone is light, but he knows her well enough that she looks sad.

It takes great restraint on his part not to say 'bros before hoes'. Instead, he repeats, "This cure is _important_."

Pepper raises her eyebrows a little and Tony himself is surprised at how vehement he sounds, but then, considering the fact that he spends every waking hour poured over screens and researching Banner's condition (and when he's not, he's talking to the man himself, who is paler and sleeps even less these days), then it really isn't all that unexpected.

"Tony, this –" she seems to search for words. "This – what we have – it's a relationship, isn't it?"

"Of course," Tony says, and tries not to be annoyed that she is asking.

"You care about me, my feelings matter," Pepper continues.

"Yes," he says shortly.

Pepper looks at him. "Then why haven't you said sorry?"

Tony is silent. When he doesn't answer, she shrugs his hand off and leaves the kitchen. The sound of her high heels echoes sharply, and then fades away.

The truth is, it's because he isn't.

* * *

a/n: my thanks especially to suga bee, awesomeperson17, radwoman, elementicy, xgentlesmiles, jen darknight, tmmdeathwishraven, incessance, to the anons, and to everyone who favourited and alerted. your encouragement always inspires me.

reviews are _always_ loved – so even if it's just one word, please take a few moments to send one.

*inquiri - pronounced in-KEY-ree.


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